


too much is never enough.

by piyochaii



Category: Final Fantasy Type-0
Genre: Alternate Universe - FFXV, Crush, ITS JUST A SELF-INDULGENT FIC, M/M, Oracle!Machina, Prince!Nine, and the most polished thing i wrote last year, ooc kinda, thats really it tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piyochaii/pseuds/piyochaii
Summary: The one where Nine can't help but secretly crush on his best friend.or: my FFXV AU that a total of two (2) people asked for.





	too much is never enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh good lord. I didn't want to post this because it's soooooooooo self-indulgent and cheesy and written like a year ago. I was gonna delete the more cheesier scenes but decided that I don't care since a) I wanna post more on ao3 this year and b) honest to god, who's even gonna see this??
> 
> Title stolen from Florence + The Machine's "Too Much Is Never Enough" because I couldn't think of a title.

The Prince squinted from his spot on the bed. He couldn't see properly without his glasses, but he could smell just fine. “Why do you smell like flowers?”

 

The Oracle shrugged, stared down at the floor, and stood only a foot from Nine. Always quiet, Nine rarely heard a peep from him. The most he could ever get was “yes” or “no”, and if he was lucky, a clipped sentence. Machina’s brother, Izana, had told Nine that his brother was shy, he didn't talk much when he was scared, and wasn't accustomed to talking with those outside of family.

 

Scared though? Of _Nine_? Nine, who despite being ten, ran away from his own servants and advisor so he could avoid duties. Nine who would go to his hidey-hole when he got angry or frustrated because he knew not to make a scene and embarrass his parents. Nine who made servants laugh one moment and then caused their lives to be a living hell the next. What was scary about Nine of all people?

 

“Are you scared of me?” Nine asked, curious.

 

Machina raised his head, green eyes that reminded Nine of a forest wide, and filled with disquietness. He nodded.

 

“Why?”

 

A pause. Then the Oracle bared his teeth, as if trying to imitate one of the monsters Nine had been told stories about. Then it hit Nine that Machina was imitating _him_ , not a monster. What the-

 

“Hey!” Nine shouted, annoyed at the audacity of Machina. His shout caused Machina to jump at least half a foot in the air.

 

Machina placed a hand over his heart, and sent Nine a vexed glare. “Astrals! Don't do that,” he said. His voice was silvery, like wind chimes in the breeze—well, closer to wind chimes in a tornado because he was more upset than calm.

 

He _should_ apologize. That didn't mean he would though. So instead, like a ten year old would, he slouched and sulked. His dad wouldn't be impressed if he found out Nine was making the Oracle upset. “Do you want to visit the garden?” That was as close as an apology as he was getting.

 

The garden was one of his father’s proudest possessions. The servants who maintained it were specifically trained in caring for flowers, and not a single person less than those qualifications was allowed to care for the garden. The Prince’s hiding spot was within the depths of it, behind the rose bushes, across the miniature river that ran throughout the garden, and under the apple tree. Hardly anyone ever went that far back, which gave Nine the secrecy he needed.

 

The Oracle nodded, excitement filled his eyes. While Machina was the silent type, his eyes said a lot about what was going through his head. Nine sighed, hopped off the bed and began walk towards the door without waiting for Machina. He could hear the _click, click, click_ of Machina’s shoes close behind. Neither of them said anything as they made their way down the long hallways of the palace.

 

When they arrived at the garden, Machina let out a soft gasp. He walked over to the fountain (the centerpiece) that was at least twice his size, circled it twice, then stopped at the lavender bushes to smell them. Nine followed from a distance. It was like watching a dog explore a new field it had never been in. The Oracle was stuffy and unresponsive their past few meetings, this new behavior was peculiar. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Nine snickered.

 

From then on, they met in the garden; they played hide-and-seek (Machina won every time), ran around freely without reprimand, told stories about their day, and cracked jokes until Machina had to leave. The Prince learned that Machina’s favorite flower was the sylleblossom, a flower native to Tenebrae. Since they were sharing their favorite things, Nine revealed his hiding spot.

 

“You run away from your servants?” Machina asked. His head was tilted back to properly see Nine, who was sitting in the tree, eating an apple.

 

Nine answered, “Yeah, sometimes I don't wanna be a prince.” His advisor would heave a long sigh from the way he was talking, then proceed to lecture him about manners and etiquette and other issues Nine didn't care about. He took a bite out of the apple. “Do you always wanna be the Oracle?”

 

Eyebrows knitted, frown in place—Machina shook his head.

 

“So there.” Nine shrugged. He plucked an apple down from the tree with his free hand and tossed it at Machina. The boy gasped and fumbled to catch the sudden projectile before seizing it within his hands.

 

The Oracle puffed his cheeks, similar to a pufferfish. “Why do you do that?”

 

“Do what?” Nine asked.

 

“Sometimes you're really nice to me and sometimes you're really mean.”

 

Over the weeks, Nine had forgotten how much of a crybaby Machina could be even though they were the same age. If he was being honest, Machina was easy to make fun of, he made funny faces and reacted exactly how Nine expected he would. “I was being nice just now. Now eat your apple.”

 

After glaring at the Prince for a few seconds, Machina acquiesced and ate the apple.

 

—

 

“Fuck-”

 

“It's ill mannered to curse.”

 

They were fourteen, but still met in the garden as they did years ago. On that day, they lazed around under the heat of the sun. Nine was trying to climb an orange tree, but his foot slipped, sending him back onto the ground.

 

“Fuck you,” Nine said. He picked himself back up and tried again. He succeeded with his second attempt, scaling the tree the same as a monkey would, and began his search for ripe oranges. He threw two oranges down to the Oracle (“Stop throwing things at me!”) before he made his way down the tree and back to solid ground, where Machina stood holding both oranges. “I swear to the Astrals, you are the bitchiest person I know.”

 

“Ramuh will strike you down,” Machina said, handing an orange to Nine, and taking a step back as if Ramuh would smite him that very instant.

 

Nine smirked. “Big words coming from someone whose voice still cracks when he gets too emotional.”

 

“It does not-” His voice raised a pitch and cracked. Machina turned bright red and threw his orange at Nine, who dodged it. The Oracle pretended to be more mature than Nine, but truthfully it was just for show in front of adults.

 

Secretly, Nine was delighted to know this side of Machina—not _the Oracle_ — _Machina Kunagiri_. Not the levelheaded, formally speaking, gently smiling Oracle everyone expected him to be, but fourteen-year-old, childish, sincere, Machina Kunagiri that Nine had the privilege to see. It was funny, actually, they would be walking through the halls and Machina would pleasantly smile at a guard or servant, then turn around and complain to Nine about something.

 

Machina asked, “Where do you even learn those words from?” He scavenged through the tall grass in search of his orange. He appeared to be resisting the urge to crawl on his hands and knees, for his white clothes would stain otherwise.

 

“Classmates,” Nine answered. He plopped onto the ground and began to peel his orange. At school he would hear other students curse often. It wasn't his intention, but he picked up the swear words with ease, and eventually found them slipping into his diction.

 

“Then I suggest you stop hanging around foul mouthed students,” Machina said. He made a pleased hum when he spotted his orange resting near the river.

 

“If it makes you _that_ uncomfortable, I'll stop.”

 

The Oracle picked up the fruit and walked over to where Nine was sitting. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” the Prince said, throwing the peelings in the grass. “You gotta beg first, though.” What he was expecting was for Machina to roll his eyes or yell at him, not throw his orange (again!) and hit him square in the forehead, point-blank.

 

It wouldn't be until they were fifteen, half a year later, when Nine would hear Machina curse for the first time.

 

“Shit,” Machina hissed, examining his finger as it began to bleed after giving himself a papercut. He placed the book he was reading on the bed and frowned.

 

They were in Nine’s room for a change, and were lounging around—Machina was reading and Nine was playing games on his phone—until the Oracle’s swear broke the tranquility.

 

Nine paused his game and looked up from the floor, where he was laying on his back. “I never thought there'd be the day when I got to hear you curse.” It was music to his ears to hear the person who once chided him about using “foul mouthed language” become a hypocrite.

 

Machina’s cheeks turned red. “You misheard, I said _Shiva_.” He got off the bed and rummaged through a nearby dresser until he found a box of bandaids. Deftly, he wrapped the bandage over the cut and returned to his spot.

 

“Because Shiva and shit sound exactly alike, _right_ ,” Nine teased. “You always act like you got a stick shoved up your…” he trailed off, seeing that Machina was holding the book in his hands with a glare. The Oracle was either planning to drop it on his face, or throw it at him—both of which would hurt.

 

“Are you going to finish that sentence?” Machina asked.

 

“Nah,” Nine said. Best not to piss him off further. An angry Oracle with projectiles was a bad idea from his own experience. He mumbled, “Unless you want one shoved up there.”

 

The book fell on his face.

 

—

 

The Oracle’s parents, usually known for their modesty, threw their son an extravagant sixteenth birthday party. Every inch of the palace was decorated with ribbons, balloons and stone columns with vases of sylleblossoms on them. It was a private party, but the amount of guests that attended was immense.

 

Nine (surprisingly labeled “guest of honor”) watched Machina from the food table while leaning against the wall. The Oracle flitted around—forced smiles, warm greetings, and even more forced laughter. It was all a mask. For some, it might be hard to see behind the blinding smiles, but Nine could clearly tell that Machina wanted nothing to do with his own party. Machina enjoyed excelling in his studies and being at the top of his classes, but he despised formal events such as this one. Being the center of attention was something he tended to avoid if he could. And he had, for a while, until his parents pressured him into having the party. It was a nightmare for the both of them.

 

“Hey,” Nine greeted as Machina joined him against the wall.

 

“Hey yourself,” Machina replied. “I mean- How is your evening, Highness?” Followed up with his Oracle Smile.

 

“Alright there, birthday boy, calm down.”

 

The mask dropped. “My feet are killing me,” he complained, shoulders drooping and a tired look replacing the previously fake smile.

 

Nine studied Machina—white clothes accentuated with gold, a decorative gold hair pin carefully placed in his hair, and… “Are those boots?”

 

“No.”

 

“That's like, an inch heel right?”

 

“No.”

 

“Who's idea was that one?”

 

“Nobody’s.”

 

“A four inch height difference bother you that much?”

 

The Oracle sighed, refusing to humor him. “Did you know wine is gross?” He asked, changing the subject, and offering the half empty wineglass to Nine.

 

Was it, Nine wondered as he took to glass a studied the maroon, almost red, liquid. Nine wouldn't know. For as much sneaking out as he did, he avoided alcoholic drinks in fear of fucking up and possibly getting trashed. Wine though, was supposed to be a drink for staid officials at parties, not young princes.

 

“No matter how disgusting it is,” Machina said, “don't spit it out.”

 

Surely, it couldn't be that bad. The Oracle had a taste for theatrics, after all. Nine lifted the glass and took a sip. Bitterness, cinnamon, and vanilla all attacked his tongue at once. Machina snorted beside him as he made a face and forced himself to swallow the abhorrent drink. What in Shiva’s name was _that_? A “what the fuck” was the first thing out of his mouth as he set the glass down on the food table.

 

Machina sent a polite smile to an official passing by before he commented, “I told you so.”

 

“Only fuckers who want to look nice would drink that shit.” The mere thought of that taste reminded him of when he was a child being introduced to vegetables. “I can't believe you let me taste it.”

 

“It's an _acquired_ taste. You have to learn to love it.” His eye caught someone in the room, and stood up straighter, returning to his previous formal self. “I don't want to talk to him,” he mumbled.

 

The person was a balding man, less formally dressed than most and stuck out like a sore thumb. “Ain't that the Commandant? Who invited _him_?” The Prince could name exactly zero people who actually liked the man.

 

“It's a formality,” Machina answered. “Get me out of here.”

 

Nine raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Stick Up My Ass is asking me for help?” His eyes were on the commandant, who was being held up by a conversation. The Prince weighed his options: watch Machina suffer through a conversation with a sleaze and get a good laugh, or save him from his own party. Why did he even bother asking? He grabbed the Oracle’s hand and guided him away from the party and into the nearest hall. “Don't say I never did anything for you.”

 

“Right,” Machina said, his shoes clicking against the floor like they had so many years ago. “I'm indebted to you.”

 

As the sounds of the party faded away, Nine slowed down his quickened pace. At this point, he thought he should probably let go of Machina's hand, but the Oracle didn't seem to mind. Machina’s hand was callused and rough, the same as Nine’s. They had been told that if the worst came to worst, Nine would protect the Oracle. Machina had frowned, then, malcontent at the thought of being unable to protect himself or others. For Nine, it was hilarious to watch the Oracle _demand_ to be trained in weapons usage because he refused to let a friend’s blood be on his hands at his own fault. Although he never told him, Nine found a new admiration for Machina; _that's how an Oracle should be_ , he had thought, _not a damsel in distress, but someone with the Astrals’ blessings who can keep their people safe_. That was actually the day he–

 

“Do you know where you're going?” Machina asked, interrupting Nine’s reckless train of thought. Despite the skepticism lining his question, his hand was still in Nine’s,

 

“Fuck no,” Nine replied. He was scarcely ever in Tenebrae, much less in the palace. The select few times he visited was when they were children and were limited to certain areas. He heard the Oracle sigh before taking the lead of their escapade.

 

“You're hopeless,” Machina said. “You know that right?”

 

“Says the person who asked me to save his sorry ass.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket and loosened his tie. The only thing that kept him from doing that at the party was his mom. She would kick his ass if she saw him wandering around without properly wearing his suit.

 

Machina steered them through the maze of hallways. Walking through the halls, Nine felt incongruous. Where Insomnia valued sleek and modern architecture, Tenebrae fancied complex, yet effective designs. Their people were complete opposites, even—those hailing from Tenebrae tended to be quiet and polite, while Insomnians were fickle and held no feelings back. It was a wonder how they managed to get along so well.

 

“My room,” Machina said, stopping in front of a door. He let go of Nine’s hand (did he linger for a second or was that Nine’s imagination?) and opened the door to reveal his room. It's plain white and has all the essentials for a bedroom. The prominent area of the room was the corner, which had a shelf packed with books. The desk nearby was overflowing with paper, threatening to fall like an avalanche; if it was anything like Nine’s, it was probably school assignments mixed with a few official documents.

 

“You,” Machina said as he slipped off his boots. “are a lifesaver.”

 

“Consider that your birthday gift,” Nine replied, and sank into the plush bed. Standing for hours was starting to take its toll on his back and legs. He's too young to be in pain, dammit.

 

Machina asked, skeptical, “You didn't get me one?”

 

“No?” He hadn't known what to get Machina. Before then, he never got Machina anything because he never seemed to care much about his birthday. This year was no different. “You're a fucking prince. What do you want that you don't already have?”

 

“What I want,” Machina said, walking towards the bed and stopping in front of it. “is for a certain prince to take his shoes off before he climbs in my bed like a heathen.” He placed his hands on his hips.

 

“Make me.”

 

“ _Make you_ ? It's _my_ bed.” The Oracle climbed onto the bed and attempted to push Nine off. Attempted being the operative word. Nine barely moved an inch. “Are you a dead weight or something?”

 

“Push harder, birthday boy,” Nine said with a chuckle. He was purposely being difficult to upset Machina—it was a not so guilty pleasure of his.

 

A huff, and then Machina gave one last shove before flopping in the bed next to Nine. He elbowed the Prince a couple of times to make him scoot over before getting comfortable on his half of the bed.

 

“I'm going to sleep,” Machina proclaimed. “Don't let me wake up to find you still have your shoes on.”

 

Silence covered the room like a blanket thereafter. The Oracle wasn't the warmest person to be next to, but Nine enjoyed his presence nonetheless. Ten, maybe fifteen, minutes passed until Nine could hear Machina’s breathing even out, revealing that he was fast asleep. Pretending to match everyone's idea of how _The Oracle_ should act must have tired him out. Nine could relate, sometimes he had to fill the role of _The Prince_ rather than _Teenager That Just So Happened To Be Royalty_.

 

Nine kicked off his shoes (not because he was scared of Machina throwing his own shoes at him) and sat up. Sleep didn't seem enticing at the moment. Peering at the Oracle, Nine took in all the little details—once neatly swept hair and pressed clothes now disheveled from laying down, those stupid cat socks he liked to wear throwing off the aesthetic of his attire, his hairpin missing, his face… The Prince had to look away. Fuck.

 

He had it bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :D


End file.
